Her Eyes
by wintryone
Summary: Fenris survives his life as Danarius' slave for one reason. Her eyes watch over him. One Shot.


For years, the same dream had haunted his sleep. If you could even call it a dream, those soft brown eyes that watched over him with such concern whenever he closed his eyes.

The first time he remembered seeing them, they were glistening with unshed tears, as he lay strapped to his master's table, his flesh being pierced and sliced as if he were to be the evening meal.

The pain of it, the agony, had never left him.

Throughout his torture and the subsequent humiliations, he'd held the vision of those cinnamon-colored orbs strongly in his mind. Drowning himself in the care and compassion those eyes poured into him with their steady, unflinching gaze. There was no shame in them, no censure - only understanding, and perhaps also a deep, lingering sadness.

At night, those lovely eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, became real to him, and he spent his dreamlife simply staring into them, holding onto his very soul under their reassuring regard. He'd lost his past, and all that had come before the ritual, but those tender orbs seemed to promise him there may be a future for him, if he could only persevere.

He had nothing else of his own. His very body, his thoughts - they did not belong to him. He was a possession, perhaps more valuable than that of the serving maids, but less so than his master's prize stallion. Or so it seemed to Fenris.

He saw the expressions of Danarius' other slaves - their eyes dull and lifeless, the muscles of their faces slack, their skin a pale gray from lack of proper nourishment. They had become inured to their fate, cut off from their very essence, which had once made them a person with thoughts and feelings of their own. That lack left them nothing more than walking corpses, already dead in every way that mattered, and nothing more than a vessel to serve and to obey.

Unlike the others, Fenris was not numb. Even with no memory of a better life, he felt every nuance of the pain inflicted upon him. It was a constant inner struggle to suppress his strong feelings, so that his master would not see them manifested on his face, or in his eyes, and enact further punishment upon him. He knew that Danarius' greatest pleasure was in breaking spirits, and he endured those attempts each and every day.

Much of the time, he loathed being himself. He hated the scarred flesh that kept him trapped within the cage of his body. The physical torment was almost easier to bear than the hot band of dread and fear that felt as if it were crushing his chest. Often, he could hardly draw breath.

If it were not for the solace of that perfect gaze that greeted him each night - in which he found safe harbor from the horror of his days - he knew that by now he would be like all the others. It was this knowledge that, over time, made him grateful that he felt anything at all. The alternative would be so much worse.

Pain meant life, and therefore, hope.

Danarius took great pleasure in parading his collared slave before the other Magisters, pulling him along on a leash for any and all who would see. His master was always touching him, and kept him barely clothed to show off the lyrium markings he'd so artfully carved into his slave's flesh. By day, his master was proud and possessive, if somewhat lewd - but by night, he enacted his twisted, sadistic pleasures upon his pet, in ways that left Fenris shaking and degraded. By the time he was returned to his cell, he could barely stand, and would collapse upon the filthy, straw-strewn floor.

Once his eyes closed, he was instantly transported to a place of safety under her blessed regard. He was sure they were a woman's eyes, so sweetly soft and warm were they; her gaze a sentinel that stood against his suffering life. .

A life that he endured for many, long, countless years.

When Danarius informed him of an upcoming trip to Seheron, Fenris had simply acquiesced as he always did, obeying his master, without hesitation or complaint. He allowed himself no hope that the journey would grant him any kind of reprieve, and in that he had been right. Those days aboard ship were some of the worst he had ever endured, as his master had no better way to distract himself, or spend his time, other than playing with his prized pet.

Those nights, her eyes streamed tears, like a river of sadness created from his torment.

Fenris had only the vaguest notion of why his master had come to the island nation of Seheron. He'd heard rumors that Danarius sought a weapon to use against the constant Qunari threat against Tevinter. Ever obedient, he'd knelt on his knees at his master's side as he'd been told, but snuck surreptitious glances at the approaching shoreline. A long, white beach received the curling green waves like a lover's touch. Row upon row of tall, fronded trees pressed close to the shoreline, as grey gulls skimmed above the water, hunting for their midday meal. It was such a deceptively peaceful scene, that no one expected what happened next.

The attack came without warning. They'd barely landed on the shore in their skiff, when warriors had emerged from the jungle like wraiths, surrounding and overwhelming Danarius and his group of well-armed soldiers. Such was their speed and their stealth, his master no chance to use his great magic against them.

Severely wounded and near death, his master was taken back to the ship, leaving his slave, his precious pet, exposed and defenseless among the white-painted men.

Fog Warriors, they'd called themselves, and instead of the death he'd expected, they had taken Fenris among them. They'd healed him, removed his collar and treated him with kindness.

Within the small hut they gave to him, he yet dreamed of her eyes, and they shone with a happiness he had not seen in them before. He lived and worked among these proud, strong warriors, and though he still did not think of the future, he no longer dreaded the next hour, the next minute, as he had done for so long.

Those weeks passed in a haze of simple pleasures - things he had never experience since his tortuous rebirth into life as a lyrium warrior. No longer leashed or caged, he spent many long hours walking along the sandy beach, watching sunsets and moonrises, and listening to the comforting lull of waves crashing into the shore. His new companions included him in all aspects of their lives, and for the first time in his memory, he laid down at night with his belly full and his mind at peace. Her eyes smiled upon him in his dreams, and instead of clinging to her comfort, he began to wonder who she was, and why he deserved her unwavering attention.

One night, under the bright light of a full moon, the Fog Warriors offered him a true place among them - to become one with them. Fenris accepted, his mind and heart enveloped in a wondrous awe that his fate could have led him here. They painted his body white, and for a time he almost forgot the markings Danarius had inflicted upon his flesh. Almost - the pain, it lingered.

How his master managed to slip by the village defenses with his large band of skilled hunters, Fenris never knew. Danarius unerringly found his slave, and had the hunters strip him of his treasured new armor, and return him to his status as a slave. His master had brought with him a spiked breastplate and pauldrons for Fenris to wear, but left his feet bare, so that he would not try to escape.

The worst happened then. The order came from Danarius as merely an afterthought. There was no anger in his master's voice, instead he sounded vaguely annoyed. Fenris was ordered to kill those who had succored him, and he did not hesitate - he'd obeyed without thought or question.

Yet, when he'd look down upon the dead and broken bodies of his recent comrades, the knowledge that he'd been the weapon that had destroyed them was too much for his fragile mind to bear. Something inside of him, that last small kernel of his soul, was quickly slipping away.

When Danarius commanded, "Come, Fenris," he met his master's gaze for the first time.

What he saw shocked him into a new awareness. Instead of the cold, penetrating eyes of his master, there were her superimposed eyes, filling the air between them. They were filled with a righteous wrath so intense, his feet began to move of their own accord. Yet, they did not carry him to the side of his master, but rather they'd swiftly turned and carried him into the dark depths of the jungle.

Fenris ran.

His time among the Fog Warriors had taught him many things, and he now put them to good use. The paths that twisted under the dense canopy of leaves were well-known to him now, and his pursuers were soon lost.

For the first time in his memory, Fenris was alone. Her gentle, all-seeing gaze in his mind was his only companion as he ran for his life, his freedom.

He knew not how much time passed as he made his way through the jungle, but thanks to his dead comrades, he knew how to survive its many dangers. Guilt would overwhelm him, only to be banished by her ever-present eyes, encouraging him and giving him hope when he had none himself.

Eventually, he came to a small port city, and hired himself out to a ship's captain, who paid him not, but gave him passage when he had no coin of his own.

After weeks at sea, the ship finally landed in Val Royeaux, and Fenris knew it was time to strike out on his own once more. He lost himself among the city's crowds, and did not return to the ship.

For two years, he lived that mean existence, taking whatever work he could find, and stealing to survive when he could not earn the coin. Always he lived in fear of recapture, for he knew Danarius would send his hunters for him. More than once, he barely escaped his pursuers, and in truth, if not for her eyes always watching over him and giving him the strength to go on, he may have surrendered himself without a fight.

Ever he moved eastward, until one clear morning, he saw a great, walled city, perched high atop a cliff face. As he came nearer, he met with a merchant's caravan, and was told the city was Kirkwall. A troubled place, they said, where a well-armed warrior might find enough work to live on.

Fenris did find work, and managed to eek out a miserly existence, but always the threat of hunters weighed heavily on his mind. Fear fueled him more than the meager bread he ate, and he kept to himself. His senses, however, remained on high alert, and his only comfort was the beauty of the brown eyes that graced his sleep.

Finally, the day came. The dreaded day he had feared for so long. Danarius had come to Kirkwall, and had taken a mansion in Hightown. His hunters combed the streets of the city, searching for the Magister's lost property.

It was by luck alone that Fenris came upon the strange dwarf one night. He'd been keeping to the shadows, afraid to stay in one place for too long. Fenris had not slept in three days, and was terrified his mind was playing tricks on him when he found the dwarf cowering in a Lowtown back alley, surrounded by a group of thugs.

Fenris made short work of the dwarf's attackers, and in the ensuing conversation, filled with stuttering gratitude, he discovered that Anso knew of someone in Kirkwall who might help him against the hunters.

Fenris set about discovering the movements of his pursuers, as he waited for Anso to get word back to him about this unknown doer of good deeds, who prowled Kirkwall's streets. He found the hunters had set up a base in the alienage, and overheard that they had a means to recapture 'the slave' - some kind of weapon to negate the power of his markings, was rumored to be hidden in a chest there.

After two days, Anso informed him he'd arranged a meeting with someone called Hawke, and Fenris told the dwarf what lies he should tell Hawke to lure the famed warrior to the hunter's alienage hovel. Nervous and uncomfortable, Anso agreed, and the plans were set into motion.

That evening, Fenris allowed himself a brief rest, hidden behind a stack of crates at the docks. When he closed his eyes, her eyes shone upon him in approval.

Full darkness finally fell over the city as Fenris made his way to the alienage. He heard the sounds of combat, and thought to enter the fray himself, when voices and the clink of armor approached him from behind him.

A hunter, clearly the captain, was instructing his men to wait for his signal, before storming the alienage, in a surprise attack against the unknown group who'd attacked their base. Fenris waited until the captain had descended the stairs, before he killed each and every one of the hunters in a frenzy of rage.

He took barely a moment to calm himself, before he followed the captain, his intention to kill the man and find whatever weapon they had secured in the chest. When the captain barked for his men to join him, it was Fenris, instead, who approached.

"Your men are dead and your trap has failed," he said, and then he plunged his lyrium-lit fist into the man's chest and ripped out his heart. The captain crumbled to the ground, and with some satisfaction, Fenris turned to thank the warrior Anso had hired to help him.

"I apologize..." Fenris began, but the rest of his words died on his lips as he gazed upon the warrior called Hawke.

Her eyes shone. Her eyes. Filled with approval and curiosity, he finally saw the woman to whom those blessed eyes belonged.

And he knew, with utter certainty, without doubt, that he had found his destiny, and would follow her into the void itself.

**The End**

* * *

_Thank you, Fenzev, for the beta :)_


End file.
